


Olivia With A Twist

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Booty Call, Established Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, Romance, Slash, Smut, fuck buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach and Chris have more trouble connecting than they should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olivia With A Twist

**Title:** Olivia With A Twist  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** Zach and Chris have more trouble connecting than they should.

 

 

"Shut up. Seriously," Chris tells him, let's Zach's cock slide back into his mouth in the next breath, flicks his tongue in such a way that Zach suspects he's actively _trying_ to make him make noise.

Zach bites his lip, thunks his head back against the couch and tries to do as he's told. But Chris goes deep then, makes the most deliciously wanton sound around Zach's cock and Zach has to watch. Meets senselessly blue eyes and can't look away. Chris tries to grin, sucks hard on the head and takes him deep again.

"Fuck, you are a fast learner. I mean, _fuck_ , just look at you . . ."

Chris's hand flies up to cover Zach's mouth while the other one encircles the base of Zach's cock. And Chris's head bobs faster, tongue pressing harder, sucking even harder harder deeper perfect—

Zach comes, shout muffled into Chris's hand. He forces his eyes to open, sees Chris wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Chris catches his eye, smirks.

Zach yanks Chris up onto the flimsy couch with him, takes his cock in hand.

"I mean," Chris pants. "We won't have as many opportunities on the tour to, ah, well y'know . . ."

"What makes you think that?" Zach rubs his thumb over the head of Chris's cock, spreading precome and getting Chris to twitch involuntarily and clutch at him.

"Oh, you know. Language barriers, thin-walled hotel rooms, having to be professional all the time and being watched twenty-four seven."

"Okay, see, most of those things are applicable to our current situation, and yet we're still fucking in your trailer in-between takes." Zach's hand starts to slow as he thinks about it. "And the language barrier thing doesn't even count, I mean, how would that even affect—?"

"Yeah, Zach, real interesting—could you please _not_ stop?"

"Oh. Yeah."

Zach gets him off pretty successfully in terms of the mess and the noise level, and it might say something about their relationship that these are the criteria he rates sex with Chris with, but it's just too casual between them to be worth thinking about _too_ in-depth.

*

John's roped Chris into playing some insipid game at the airport which is apparently hi- _larious_ , and the rest of the travel weary cast is either watching them or trying to read the local paper. Zach doesn't think Zoe's German is all that convincing, but she's trying to be all worldly this week so he leaves it alone.

Zach is too brain-dead to read, so he settles for watching Chris.

He'd started fucking Chris because he wasn't as innocent as he looked, because Chris had wanted to experiment with another guy, because of how gorgeous he was. They don't seem like good enough reasons anymore, though.

Scrambling around for sex with Chris on set had been fun. Stress relieving. But they don't seem to do well together unless work, orgasms, or other people are involved.

It doesn't make sense to Zach. They would seem to have a lot in common, or at least a lot to talk about. Highbrow mockery and corny jokes free-flowing between them under the right circumstances.

Still, there is a waning interest on both their parts. Zach finds himself refusing Chris's advances, making excuses, becoming irrationally annoyed with him for what? Wanting him?

It's not that Zach doesn't want _Chris_ , that's for sure—it's just that a quick, sexual fix isn't enough anymore, if that makes any sense.

The _problem_ is that for Chris, quick fixes still are enough. The guy has no compunctions about propositioning Zach for sex, and they have yet to go on anything resembling a date or have a real conversation that doesn't serve as foreplay.

*

". . . But after you used 'bellicose' in the cab I knew I was done for," Chris is murmuring against his neck.

Zach closes the hotel room door, locks it, flicks on a light and lets Chris push him against a wall. Chris is already hard, grinding into Zach's hip, breath coming in short little puffs that tantalize before they kiss, instantly hot, passionate, wet, thrilling.

Chris moans into his mouth, pulls away a bit and tries to lead him to the bed.

Zach stops him and Chris's eyes open dazedly like his shiny reddened mouth. "Wha—what's wrong? Wanna fuck against the wall again?" Chris's hands trail absently over Zach's arms, into his hair, toying with buttons.

"It's only eight thirty. We could just grab something to eat now. I mean, aren't you getting sick of room service? I know I am . . ."

Chris looks at him like he's insane. He clears his throat. "I, uh . . . I _guess_ we could go somewhere, but I think the others are already going to that club, so I dunno if they'd—"

"No. No, I mean let's just go grab something to eat. Like, you and me." And now Chris looks certain Zach's lost it. Zach pushes on anyway: "Aren't you hungry?"

Chris laughs. "It's just that there's no reason we have to brave the streets of Auckland alone when the rest of the cast is here . . ."

Zach shakes his head. "Yeah, forget it." He leans in to kiss Chris's neck, pull their hips flush. "Now where were we?"

Chris grins.

*

Chris had probably been right—what was the use in messing with a good thing? They only did well in bed or with the group. The problem _now_ , however, was that the group had long since dispersed and left them alone together.

Well not _alone_ alone. Los Angeles was a big place and they both had projects that demanded their time.

But it meant that he saw Chris less and less, and the one time they had tried to have a real conversation over dinner they'd ended up fucking in a bathroom stall. Which had been hot, but . . .

Chris wasn't like a _real_ friend now—he'd morphed into the guy you talk to at work, your best friend from summer camp that one year. A booty call, for sure.

But that didn't explain the quiet ferocity with which Zach missed having him around.

*

"Hey. Hey, man, havin' a good time?"

Sendhil laughs, makes a face and pats Zach on the shoulder. "Hey, _man_ , it looks like you certainly are. Exactly how much have you had to drink, Zach?"

"Who the fuck knows," Zach mutters, forces more alcohol down his throat and holds the plastic cup out as if waiting for someone to take it. Sendhil humors him, stows it safely on the coffee table.

"Mind telling me what's up?" Sendhil's eyes are _so_ dark. His eyelashes are so different. "Hello?" He's waving. "Earth to Quinto!" His hair looks really good tonight. Sighs, makes Zach sit on the couch with him. "Talk to me. Nobody has any fun when you're moping."

Zach closes his eyes to stop the room from spinning, opens them again to blot everything out with the smooth feline details of Sendhil's face. So different.

Sendhil pokes him. "Better say something or I'll have to cut off your alcohol supply."

Zach is silent for a while, feels Sendhil's different eyes boring into him. "M'tired of being the, the easy-going fuck buddy. Gay sex 101, tour guide of slutty exact—exap— _escapades_. I might've been in, in, I might've . . . It _sucks_. God. More'n it should, right?"

". . . Want me to help you forget?" Sendhil asks quietly, so concerned and _so different_.

"Yes."

Sendhil smiles and leads Zach into an empty room, leans in and speaks so close that his lips brush Zach's: "You just want me to do the accent."

"No shit. Thought we'd been over this . . ." Zach says vaguely. Sendhil kisses him.

*

Zach gets off of work and checks his phone, sees a bunch of missed calls from Chris—like, more than necessary for some impromptu afternoon delight. There's even a bitchily grammatically correct text telling Zach to call him. It freaks him out a little.

He waits 'til he's walking Noah after dinner to call Chris back, holds his breath while it rings.

"What the fuck, Zach?"

". . . Um, fine how are you?"

"You have about five seconds to explain yourself."

"Okay, Chris, um, I was at _work_ all day, you know—"

"Sendhil."

"Ramamurthy, Ramamurthy, Ramamurthy. See, I told you I could say it three times fast—"

" ** _Zachary._** "

Zach's eyes widen. "Chris, stop flipping out and tell me what the problem is."

"The problem? The _problem?_ I'd say you're the fucking problem, Zach. Sleeping around behind my back? _Seriously?_ You didn't think this would be a 'problem', Zach?" Chris's voice reaches such a volume that Zach hopes to God he's not in public.

"I. I didn't know we . . . well, I didn't know _you_. I." Zach's heart's beating too loud for him to concentrate.

A long, long pause. "Why did you do it." And it sounds like all the fight's gone out of him, which twists something in Zach's chest.

Zach had slept with Sendhil because he'd been there, because he had a brain but didn't look like Chris and most of all because it wouldn’t become an issue with him. Because a pity fuck was better than _meaningless_ sex.

"I dunno," Zach says pathetically.

" _Zach_." Now Chris just sounds inconsolable. Zach needs to see his face to understand. "Did you even think about . . . did you even _think?_ "

"We're just friends. It was just, it wasn't. Just." Zach takes a generous lungful of air and sighs. "Goddammit."

Chris clears his throat. "I'm gonna be away from LA anyway, so maybe this is as good a time as any to end whatever this is." He's gone back to anger now, and it's contagious.

"So, what, that's it? I'm just not a _convenient_ enough fuck buddy anymore?"

"God, I should've known you'd get tired of me . . ."

" _Chris_."

"I don't know why I let this go on as long as it did." And he hangs up.

*

The next time he sees Chris is when they're out with John and his friends. John's too awesome to refuse, and anyway, there's a nice healthy buffer of other people around to keep them apart.

What Zach fails to realize is that when John is occupied with the inside jokes and _remember that one time_ 's of yesteryear, he's forced to socialize with Chris, and they've _never_ been good at that.

Zach wants to break the ice but he's afraid that that could somehow piss Chris off—like Zach considered himself to be taking the high road and was intentionally trying to piss Chris off. It's probably an irrational fear but Zach can't help it and he _really_ can't think of anything to say. Luckily it doesn't take long for Chris to speak up:

"So I met this girl."

"Oh. I mean—oh?" Okay, so that had been the last thing Zach was expecting.

"Yeah, she's great," Chris tells him without being asked. "I mean, we just _click_ , you know? And we have so much fun together. She's fantastic in bed, too. It's so nice to be with a person of substance again. So, what have you been up to?"

Zach can't figure out whether Chris is messing with him or not. There is a definite clippedness to his tone. "Well, I've been—"

Chris cuts him off, edge of sarcasm biting: "Having fun on the set? Yeah, it's fun to hang out on set with people and make friends, whatever that means. But yeah, it's so great to be in the kind of relationship where you just connect on every level and always want to be together, even if it's just to sit around and talk, enjoying each other's company. I'm so glad I found her—I trust her so completely."

Zach opens his mouth to speak or maybe because he can't think of anything to say but then Chris finally looks him in the eye—blue, challenging, hating him—and Zach doesn't think he can say anything that _won't_ piss him off.

"Hey, you two!" John calls. "Stop flirting and get over here!"

*

Now, Zach doesn't normally look at paparazzi photos. In fact, he spends a good chunk of his willpower pretending they don't exist. But today is an exception.

Chris has the same look of revulsion in the pictures with her that he'd had that night at John's.

It takes Zach a couple of minutes of absorbing it before he even realizes how furious he is. When Chris had waxed poetic about her (or whatever that was) it had been different— _now_ , though, she was real. She had a name and rode in Chris's car and rode Chris and sneered at the paparazzi with him. Olivia Munn was not any mere figment of Chris's vengeful imagination.

And it's more than that. It's the fact that Zach can't have sex _one time_ with Sendhil—someone he's actually friends with—but Chris can pick up this random girl and suddenly be in a _relationship_ with her and gets away with it. It shouldn't be so _easy_ for him. He should have his heart broken.

Zach goes back to pretending they don't exist.

*

When Zach finds himself on Chris's doorstep in the middle of the night he's not even sure how he got there, what he plans to do, what he _wants_ to do. Only that it was necessary to see him in the flesh and minus Olivia and know that he still existed without her.

"Oh," Chris says when he answers the door. Blinks. "It's . . . it's almost midnight," he states.

It's been eons since he's seen Chris's face so simple or heard his voice go soft, and it overwhelms Zach with sudden, conflicting bursts of feeling: hope, betrayal, _so_ much want.

Before he can think too seriously about it Zach pushes inside, gets Chris against the door and slams their mouths together. Chris tries to shove him away but Zach catches his hands and holds them still at Chris's sides and insinuates his tongue past Chris's lips. Chris makes a sound of protest but opens his mouth for him anyway, tenses up but kisses him back.

They have to break for air.

"Is she here," Zach says, quick and quiet and into Chris's hair.

Chris laughs, not in delight. "No. And it's not like you ever gave a shit before," Chris points out, like it's true.

"Actually I did."

"Zach. Fuck." Chris looks at him, trying to make him understand, looks so suitably heartbroken . . .

And Zach finally gets it. "You loved me."

"Yeah. Asshole."

"Olivia is—"

"To get back at you."

"And you thought _I_ didn't want to take it further. You fucking idiot."

Chris just kisses him, makes a tiny sound into his mouth when Zach cups the back of his head to deepen it, dizziness overwhelming him in tandem with the racing of his heart and the rise and fall of Chris's chest.

Chris's hands wander for awhile, first shaky and tentative, then surer of themselves, then just his arms wound tightly around Zach's neck while the kiss gets messy, hard, elated, angry.

Chris tries to push Zach back but it ends with Zach tripping over something on the floor and seizing the front of Chris's shirt to keep from falling, which works, but also sets Chris off-balance and long story short, they resume kissing against the hardwood floor, shadowy and removed from the lonely glow of the porch light through the glass front door.

Chris tries to get Zach's belt off but Zach can't let it be that easy, captures his hands again to hold them still and kiss him silent and grind into him through too many layers. The floor's cold and unyielding and hard on Zach's knees and elbows but the way Chris seems paralyzed with lust beneath him is worth anything.

Zach's still angry at him. Angry because part of him still hasn't caught on to what's going on and is used to being angry; frustrated that they weren't able to be honest with each other, that Chris had lied and played the part he thought Zach had wanted. That Zach had done the same thing. That Chris was probably doing the same thing with Olivia.

"God, Zach," Chris says against his mouth. "Too much. _Want_ you . . ."

The fact that Chris is so eager _now_ is weirdly infuriating. And a turn on. Zach struggles with Chris's pants, kisses his mouth to gather up his moans when he finally closes his hand around Chris's cock. Zach jerks him roughly, grinds against his thigh for some relief.

Eventually Chris remembers that sex is a joint effort and his hands squirm between them to get Zach's jeans out of the way. He shifts around underneath him to get his hand at a better angle and touch Zach too, rubs his thumb maddeningly over the head of Zach's cock while he murmurs hot, hot nonsense into Zach's mouth.

Chris's leg twines up around Zach's to pull them closer, align them better, and he starts jerking both of them together, bats Zach's hand away after awhile. "Just stay there and look insanely hot, Zach. Mm, you're so hard . . ."

Zach tips his head back, unable to take the wildness of Chris's eyes when his voice sounds like that—ragged, breathy, much too compelling—concentrates instead on the wet silken slide of their cocks and blocking out the terror lurking in the more rational part of his brain. This had never been a good idea—how could it be one now?

" _Zach_ ," Chris is breathing, over and over, just _staring_ up at him bluely, sweaty, looks just as scared. He moves his hands faster over their cocks, light promising strokes becoming firmer and unbearably good.

"Zach, please just kiss—mm."

Hard, painful kiss that's less like kissing and more like a contest to see who can slide their mouth against someone else's more firmly. Chris can't stop moaning, and the vibrations make Zach's lips tingle so he's forced to insinuate his tongue into Chris's mouth, vie with him, taste him.

Warmth spills between them and Chris turns his head away from the kiss wetly to gasp and squeeze his eyes shut and shudder through the aftershocks. He doesn't stop pumping Zach's cock though—in fact he does it harder and in sync with his quickened breathing until Zach goes still and buries his face in Chris's sweaty neck where he can hear/feel his voice telling him to _Come on, Zach, so hot . . . come for me,_ and obeys.

Zach would've collapsed in a sticky, ungainly heap over Chris's languid body if not for the havoc their short stay on the floor had wrought on his joints. He rolls off of him and stares up at the ceiling fan, at the light splashing in through the little crystal-y glass in the front door and painting vague rainbows everywhere. He tries to breathe as quietly as possible just to listen to Chris's own breathing begin to slow, hears Chris shift after a minute and glances over to find his face and an indecipherable expression inches from his own.

"So, are we okay?" Zach finally asks after a good minute of staring at each other. He doesn't know.

"Maybe," Chris says, burrows closer and laughs a little.

*


End file.
